It had been such a long time since I took the bus. I forgot just how much culture was involved. How very strange the world of bus riding is - and, nothing has changed!
Last Thursday I took the 93, then the 551, then the 610 to go home. Today, I took the 610 and 620 (which turns into some other number, mind) to get to the University.
Last Thursday was fairly uneventful until I began waiting for the 610, which connects to the street I live on. I did not know, at that time, that the University does not pay for the 93 any longer, so I had to pay extra for the Express bus. Except that the driver found that everyone was complaining that the University and how they did not properly inform us of such a change, and, therefore only charged me half fare, but gave the next girl a free ride (?). I honestly thought that we were going to lose the 93/94 "Free" routes starting on August 1. How sad it is now, that we don't have a free ride between the two University campuses, especially when we still have a transportation fee in our tuition and fee bill.
Okay - enough of that. Any college student could go on and on about how terrible it is to pay for one's own education. I certainly cannot talk - a PhD degree is a privileged person's degree - no matter how difficult it may seem to obtain one. I sometimes try to put things into perspective.
Therefore, last Thursday, I was waiting in the hot sun for the 610 bus, the third bus on my route home, when a twenty-year-old (approximately) skinny guy who reminded me of Jay (of "Jay and Silent Bob") asked if he could borrow my cell phone. This was the second time during my VIA adventure that day that someone wanted to use my phone. I wasn't terribly worried - if they had taken off with it, then that was a sign that I needed a new phone anyway. I've been on the lookout for a new one - the battery just isn't what it used to be.
So, he called his step-brother or so he said, then handed the phone back to me. Nothing happened for a few minutes - I thought he ran off to go catch a bus, but when the station became silent again, I witnessed him sitting down on the bench across from me.
"You look bored out of your mind," he said.
Raising an eyebrow, I replied, "Yeah, just waiting to go home."
"Is there anything else?"
What is he - a therapist?
I hesitated, thinking. There was, in fact, a lot on my mind. Nevertheless, I just said, "No. Just waiting."
"What did you do last weekend?"
I gave him a strange look - I tried to think of what I actually did do, but since it was already Thursday, my memory just wasn't keeping up with me. "I guess I did some shopping," I said nonchalantly.
Immediately, he cut me off and declared, "I was in a karate tournament."
"Oh, really?"
The conversation was quite lively after that - I have a black belt in Kenpo Karate, and I told him so. He informed that he had learned under Ed Parker. Junior.
"You know - Ed Parker senior taught his son. I learned from his son. I'm a brown belt in Kenpo," he explained.
"Small world."
I didn't learn his name until my bus finally pulled into the station, but James went on to enthusiastically tell me that he had a brown belt in three different martial arts, that he has been developing his own martial art since he was 12 years old, his step-dad used to own a Kenpo school, and that he just received 4th place in the Jiu Jitsu karate tournament over the weekend. We also talked about how cool UFC is, but James argued that UFC is being controlled by foreigners and he doesn't like that.
I wonder why he hasn't taken the time to develop a black belt in any martial art? He also claims that in the tournament, he was beaten by a fourth-degree black belt due to a submission, but only after 14 (he specified 14) minutes. It was great to talk karate for a while. Even if the young man might have exaggerated a bit.
Today (Monday), I walked from my house at 10:30 AM to take the bus to the University. I arrived just in time for my appointment with a sociologist who is studying military brats through interviews. I had hoped for some kind of compensation for my hour-long interview, but no such luck. Still - it was quite an exploration of self psyche kind of thing. Did I mention that my appointment was at 2:30 PM? Yes - I spent 4 hours on a journey to the University that usually takes 15 to 20 minutes by car.
Today's journey took forever. I had to wait an hour for the bus at a major transit center. During that time, I met "Smokey," a seventeen-year-old aspiring to enroll in a community college and to go on to be a police officer, a "nameless" man with three teeth, a tall woman trying to sell me stolen cologne for horrible prices,and another young man who wanted spare change. Thankfully, I was able to sweetly turn down purchasing perfume and cologne, though she ended the conversation with a firm, "Well, can't you just make a donation?" A donation to what, exactly? Stealing more cologne?
Smokey was an interesting kid. He asked me for change for the soda machine. I asked him how much he had - he grinned and told me he had a nickle. A 20-ounce soda is $1.65 at the bus station vending machine - what a rip off! I gave him two bucks and asked him to bring me back the change - he did. He literally asked me for career advice. Then, we talked tattoos. My wrist tattoos are easily visible. He had one on top of his wrist - a purple "Smokey" (his real name is Vince, but he claims that his nickname comes from the fact that he smoked his first cigarette at age 7 - that was another commodity people asked for - cigarettes). Then, he had his Mom's name (Maria) on his left upper arm. The tattoos were absolutely horrid.
"This was the guy's first tattoo, first time doing a tattoo... The first time he ever got a tattoo gun. He only had purple ink. I was his first person to tattoo. He has to practice," Smokey declared. "I want to get my Mom's name covered or removed. I'd rather have her name over my heart. Then, this wrist one - the tattoo guy was scared to tattoo over my vein."
I can see why the tattoo guy was scared - Smokey is a rather skinny fellow. I told Smokey about how expensive and difficult laser surgery is - he agreed with me, then boarded the bus, but not before thanking me again and shaking my hand.
The three-toothed guy showed up a couple of times. He never asked for anything - he was genuinely bored and wanted to talk to someone. I have the gift of gab - I can talk to whoever, whenever, about whatever. I love it. He and I talked about Playstation games, about "Tapout" (my shirt), about karate (see a theme?), about how slow the buses are, about how he wanted to take a nap, about our favorite colors... He had a lot to say.
It's summer. I'm not really in a big rush to get anywhere. My only complaint is that it's so very hot outside. I'm going to get a bus pass. I might just bring change with me every day any way. And, I'll have my cell phone. I met one of my best friends on a bus. The people are very friendly, albeit strange - everyone seems to want something. I don't feel bad for them and I don't give out quarters because I pity them - I give them out because there have been a crazy amount of people who have given me something over the years. It's the least I can do.
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